


soldier keep on marching on.

by iammadeofmemories



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25514608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammadeofmemories/pseuds/iammadeofmemories
Summary: “General?” the Centaur looks at him, attention undivided, believing him every inch the king he is supposed to be. Peter struggles not to squirm under the scrutiny, but his voice is firm and does not hesitate when he asks: “Do we have anything that could be used as aircraft?”In which Peter remembers that he has known war long before Beruna.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Peter Pevensie
Comments: 13
Kudos: 69





	soldier keep on marching on.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing Narnia fic in 2020? Me? More likely than you think. 
> 
> Inspired by a tumblr post that said that the way Peter rages war is inspired by the war in England. 
> 
> None of the characters or settings are mine, and a couple of dialogues are directly from the movie. English is not my first language and any mistake is mine. 
> 
> Title from 'Soldier', by Fleurie. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter has his sword pointed at the intruder before he is fully awake; he is not sure if whatever entered their tent is friend or foe, but he will be damned before he lets anyone take his brother again. 

The intruder (a Dryad, he thinks), however, is quick in calming him. With the noise, Edmund has woken as well, eyes suspicious and expectant. 

A bad feeling is settling in the pit of his stomach, and the words the Dryad speaks only work to worsen it. 

He runs to Aslan’s tent, Edmund right on his heels. He tells him to wake Oreius, because if what they heard is true, they sure are going to need him. 

By the time he leaves Aslan’s dreadfully empty tent, Peter is battling with himself to keep the tears at bay. _What on Earth are they supposed to do now?_

He tells them, words heavy and bitter on his tongue, before Edmund’s voice gets him out of his own head: “Then you’ll have to lead us.” 

He turns to look at his brother, unwilling to believe his words, but Edmund keeps talking before he can interrupt. 

“Peter, there’s an army out there. And it’s ready to follow you.”

He speaks what he fears. “I can’t.” Because he is a _child_ , as much as he tries to pretend he isn't, a child who wants to keep his siblings safe, and a makeshift king who wants to keep the army safe and he is not sure how he ever could.

“Aslan believed you could.” He shakes his head, a rebuttal ready on his lips, before, “And so do I.”

Something changes inside of Peter then, something big and bold and fiercely protective; and it is with his brother’s trust that he loops up at the Centaur. 

“The Witch’s Army is nearing, sire,” he says, and Peter hardens himself. “What are your orders?” 

He presses his fists to the table, staring at the battle map. He and Edmund have become quite familiarised with it in the last few days, helping the army prepare itself for the upcoming battle under the helpful aid of Oreius’ expertise and Aslan’s counsel. 

But now one is gone and the other is expecting his orders. Peter takes a deep breath, tries to focus on what they should do, what would be the best way to attack, what strategies they may use…

He bites his lip, almost drawing blood from the harsh pressure, but he is out of his depth this time. He has never been in a battle before; much less been expected to lead one. He does not know how to do this, he does not know enough about warfare to…

Wait. 

That’s when he remembers. 

The force of the memories almost knocks him down on his back, but he pays no attention to it because _he remembers_ : the tense listenings to the radio in the evenings, as the broadcaster painfully described whatever was happening at the front, the way more and more soldiers were drafted each passing day, the daily announcements for needed precautions against the enemy that attacked right from the sky. 

It hits him, then. _Of course!_ “The air raids.”

He remembers their purpose: disorientate, slow down and, if possible, decimate some of your enemies’ forces. 

“What?” Edmund is looking at him strangely, as if waiting for an explanation, and Peter realises he must have said that last part out loud. 

He clears his throat. “I know what our first step will be.” Ed limits himself to raise an eyebrow, waiting. “Air raids. Like back home, remember?”

Peter sees his brother’s expression change as the magnitude of what Peter is suggesting finally dawns upon him; he remembers too, Peter knows, and releases a sigh he did not know he was holding when Edmund firmly nods back at him. 

“General?” the Centaur looks at him, attention undivided, believing him every inch the king he is supposed to be. Peter struggles not to squirm under the scrutiny, but his voice is firm and does not hesitate when he asks: “Do we have anything that could be used as aircraft?” 

Later, when he sees the Gryphons emulate the German planes over their house, dropping rocks on the Witch’s Army as if they were bombs, Peter doesn’t think of the raids, doesn’t think of trembling bunkers, of his siblings’ whimpers, of his Mother’s frantic voice trying to appease them. No, Peter Pevensie doesn’t think of England at all. 

He doesn’t think of his little brother, up with the archers; completely ready, as the rest of the army, to go to war at his call. 

Instead, he focuses on the General’s calming presence right at his side.

( _“Are you with me?”_

 _“To the death.”_ )

But he does think of the Lion: of how sure and quick he was to put the fate of Narnia in Peter’s young hands. Trusting, kind and powerful all at once. How he never even hesitated, as if the possibility of failure never even crossed his mind. 

Good thing Peter is not planning to fail, then. 

He steadies himself, and gives the call. 

_“For Narnia, and for Aslan!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> find me at tumblr: goldenachilles


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